Tell Me Why
by Zea T
Summary: Some time after Dark of the Moon, a newly arrived Autobot is dismayed to learn what the war on Earth has done to his former companions. Angsty ficlet. Spoilers for DotM.


**Tell Me Why**

SPOILERS!

SPOILERS FOR DARK OF THE MOON!

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><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_I wrote this last week after watching the new film, which portrays the Autobots in a far more violent and less moral light even than its own novelisation. I was bothered by Lennox's line about the Autobots launching raids with the same casual abandon as teenagers sneaking out of the house (which seemed fairly accurate). I was frankly shocked by Prime's decisions at the end of the film. I came out feeling quite negative about Prime and the others, and I couldn't help wondering what a newly-arrived Autobot encountering the situation on Earth would think of their actions. So, yep, I picked the most obvious high-ranking absentee and fairly grim fic resulted._

_The film also left me wondering what became of the hatchlings that Megatron was looking after out in the desert. I've seen a couple of fics about that since, but 'Chance' by antepathy left Barricade in charge of them, and that just feels… right. I humbly acknowledge the influence of that story on this ficlet._

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, accruing no profit to the author. Characters and situations don't belong to me and are used without permission. Transformers belong to Hasbro, and this story is based on the movies directed by Michael Bay._

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><p><strong>A few months after 'Dark of the Moon'...<strong>

Would it have made any difference if he'd arrived earlier? Could he have changed what happened, or was this inevitable – fated from the first moment Optimus Prime raised arms under the Autobot banner?

Prowl's battle processor couldn't answer that question. There was no way of knowing whether his presence would have made a difference, or whether he'd just be counted amongst the fallen… by one definition or another.

Even so, guilt was a constant now, nestled in his processor alongside his grief and fear and spark-deep weariness. Perhaps he couldn't have checked the inexorable decay, but he should have been here: standing beside his Prime… beside Ironhide… beside Jazz…

A rustle in the undergrowth broke through the familiar, painful role-call. Prowl's sensory panels – reformatted now into alt-mode doors and still smarting from the process – twitched. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his optics on the parcel in his arms. Even so, his peripheral vision tracked the movement, his battle computer sounding an alert at the sight of two red optics before his oft-disregarded emotional core registered their tiny size and the spindly frame of a seekerlet who'd fit in the palm of his hand.

The hatchling was fearless, twittering with curiosity, edging out into the clearing. Its scarlet gaze alternated between Prowl's monochrome armour and the package he carried. A curious chirp faded into a longing warble as Prowl lowered the package to the ground. Moving slowly, carefully, aware of the scrutiny to which his every move was subject, the Autobot tore at the wrapping on one corner of the parcel, laying bare the energon cubes within before stepping back.

The tiny seeker was hungry. Not even a hiss of warning from the undergrowth could stop it darting forward, small hands reaching for a cube it couldn't lift or hold. Its keening protest floated across the clearing, carrying a desperate plea.

The watcher in the trees fell silent, but Prowl's sensory wings angled forward, feeling the play of lasers across their plating. It came as no surprise to find himself targeted, not with a fragile sparkling tugging on his pede, and the Decepticon signal so close, so watchful. He backed off another step before turning his back regardless. No protest came, no threat or warning. It was the best response his tactical algorithms had dared predict.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the least hostile move towards the seekerlet would be met with deadly force. And he didn't need to feel the constant incoming scans, hear the harsh vents or scan the elevated sparkrate to know that his watcher feared precisely that. What pained Prowl – what strained his processors, twisted his intakes and cemented the grief into a spark-rending knot in his chest – was the knowledge that there was reason to fear.

He'd thought at first that the younger Autobots were mistaken when they told him what had happened here on Earth. He'd rebuked them, and sought data from elsewhere, desperate for the truth. It had very nearly crashed him when he got confirmation. He hadn't recharged well since. His cycles were haunted by visions of his fellow Autobots ruthlessly hunting unarmed and fleeing Decepticons, of battles deliberately provoked and pursued to the death… of Prime himself meeting an offered truce with a blow of his axe and executing another mech without mercy, trial or even a semblance of justice.

He began to walk away, his pace steady and even, careful to scan for the crying hatchling with every step he took, and caught the energy signatures of others despite their guardian's efforts to keep them quiet. That wasn't all he sensed. Ranging lasers caressed his backplates. At any moment now he expected the watching Decepticon to take the shot. He almost looked forward to it. He certainly made no move to defend himself.

Prowl was far from opposed to hunting the remaining Decepticons on Earth. Humans were fragile creatures, and Decepticons ranged from simply careless to truly sadistic in their approach to organic life. Nonetheless, he'd spoken in protest when Optimus Prime confirmed his standing order. Prowl had never believed he'd hear the noblest of them all order his Autobots to take no prisoners. He was horrified at the decision that no quarter would be given.

He might as well have remained silent. His arguments fell on muted receptors. Prime met his loyal tactician's optics with a blank expression that morphed into anger unlike any Prowl had seen in his old friend. The ultimatum that followed was one Prowl couldn't defy; the still-turbulent ripples cast by Sentinel's betrayal had left no room for doubt or dissent in the Autobot ranks.

He'd known then that all was lost.

The hatchling wandered back towards the tree-line, its pleading cries echoed by other small voices, all thin and weak. Prowl froze when a clawed hand came out of the trees to snatch the little one to safety. He didn't have to turn to feel the deep scarlet gaze fall heavily on his sensory wings. He didn't look, holding still as the hatchlings' guardian studied him, weapon trained and wary. Prowl would not fight back. He could not in good conscience bear arms for the sake of Autobot principles that even their Prime had left to rust in the dirt of this organic world.

This was what Jazz had died for? This was the cause for which Ironhide gave his spark? No. He couldn't believe that. But nor could he believe how far they'd fallen. He only prayed, with a passion Primus had never before heard from his taciturn child, that one day Optimus Prime would realise it and lead them back into the light. And that some few precious sparks would still burn when that day came.

He flinched when the voice he'd been waiting for finally came, harsh and unyielding, but not demanding his surrender. Only demanding an answer, both for its own sake and for the hatchlings that clung to the other mech's jagged frame.

"Why?" Barricade asked in a low growl.

Prowl's optics dimmed, his frame shuddering.

"Autobot! I need to know! Why?"

He started walking, ready to leave the Decepticon and his charges behind him, and to swear in all good faith that he had not seen the unlikely guardian.

"Damn it to the Pit, Autobot! You're helping me… letting them live…. Tell me _why!_"

A weapon charged behind him, its whine silencing the chorus of small chirps. Prowl was almost out of the clearing when he spoke.

"You have to ask?" Back still turned, he shook his head, his hand coming up to rest over the weeping mask branded on his chestplates. "Then you already know the answer. Autobrand or not, what does it matter any more?"

Prowl's voice was low and filled with pain, his battle processor making it impossible to hide from the grim truth. Whether Barricade fired or not simply didn't matter at that moment. He wasn't sure what could.

"We're all Decepticons now."

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><p><strong>End<strong>


End file.
